


Leave Me Your Stardust

by ellipsometry



Series: ✧SASO 2017✧ [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, breakup and makeup, ~it's a metaphor~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 16:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11467779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: Oikawa always had a talent for origami.  It’s his clever fingers, practiced and sure no matter the task, unnaturally long and gentle.  As a kid, he folds origami swans as easy as breathing, and tears the wings off just as easily, as if to prove that he can.He takes to folding small paper stars during class, when he’s too keyed up to take notes.  He flicks them at Iwaizumi from afar, laughing at the way Iwaizumi frowns and complains.  Iwaizumi gets pretty good at rolling his eyes and pretending like he doesn’t save every single one, until the pockets of his uniform pants are overflowing with the scraps of colored paper.





	Leave Me Your Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> [written for SASO bonus round 3!](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13087045#cmt13087045)

Oikawa always had a talent for origami. It’s his clever fingers, practiced and sure no matter the task, unnaturally long and gentle. As a kid, he folds origami swans as easy as breathing, and tears the wings off just as easily, as if to prove that he can.

He takes to folding small paper stars during class, when he’s too keyed up to take notes. He flicks them at Iwaizumi from afar, laughing at the way Iwaizumi frowns and complains. Iwaizumi gets pretty good at rolling his eyes and pretending like he doesn’t save every single one, until the pockets of his uniform pants are overflowing with the scraps of colored paper.

At summer festivals, Oikawa folds origami boats and sets them off on the water, to the _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s of the attending children. He takes the time to teach them, patient and kind as they tear the paper and have to start over and over. Oikawa is always gentle with children, even if he can be cruel with everyone else. Maybe that’s why Iwaizumi loves him so much.

And that’s why, when the time comes, Iwaizumi sets Oikawa off on the water just like one of those paper boats; pushes him away as gently as he knows how, even though Oikawa isn’t half as fragile or directionless.

“That’s not fair. You’re not being fair,” Oikawa says, so mad he can’t even cry. It’s a shame, because part of Iwaizumi wants to see him cry, in a perverse, possessive, and yes, _unfair_ way. Besides, an angry Oikawa is much more dangerous; Oikawa can deftly push past sadness, but he never, _ever_ forgets a grudge.

“I’m sorry, Tooru,” Iwaizumi had decided to stick to as few words as possible, and he’s already said his piece. In many ways, it’s a speech he’s been practicing and perfecting in his head since he was a teenager, since he first started falling in love with Oikawa, since he first realized they could never have each other and their dreams too.

Iwaizumi breaks up with Oikawa and, as fate would have it, the very next day Oikawa is promoted to the starting setter position on the Japanese National Volleyball Team. It’s muscle memory, more than anything, that causes Oikawa to call Iwaizumi to tell him the news. But the line is busy, and Iwaizumi has already put an ocean between them.

+

“What’s it like?”

“… Excuse me?”

Iwaizumi’s newest co-worker laughs, “Japan, what’s it like? Do you miss it?”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi has to translate his response in his head, still a bit wanting in his English skills, even after two years in the States, “It is… different. I sometimes miss it.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t add – in fact, probably couldn’t ever put into words, no matter the language – that when he thinks about Japan he thinks about home. And when he thinks about home, he thinks about Oikawa.

It’s not alarming in the least to see Oikawa continue to flourish on the national team, to see his fanbase swell and his talent bloom further. What _is_ alarming is the undercurrent of bitterness that runs deep inside Iwaizumi. He’s proud, always proud of Tooru. He’s never once resented Oikawa’s skill or work ethic or success. Iwaizumi didn’t even know he was capable of it.

“I have a wonderful support system, of course,” Oikawa gives an interview with a popular volleyball channel on YouTube and Iwaizumi watches it on his phone during his bus ride home, “My team, my family, my friends. Because we represent the country, it’s all of Japan, really, that gives me strength.”

Iwaizumi frowns so deeply his face gets sore. He isn’t on Oikawa’s team, he’s not his family, he’s not even his friend. And, thousands of miles away from Japan, he isn’t even on the peripheral of Oikawa’s life anymore. It’s exactly what Iwaizumi wanted, and he absolutely hates it.

At home, Iwaizumi snatches a piece of paper out of his printer, cutting it down to size. He tries for an embarrassing amount of time to fold it into a paper star, refusing to look up how to do it online or anywhere else. He _should_ know how, having watched Oikawa do it over and over and over again, but the memory fails him. Iwaizumi wonders how much else about Oikawa has he forgotten, without even realizing it.

Iwaizumi books his plane ticket before heading to bed, and he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

+

“Rest day tomorrow, Oikawa. I expect you to actually rest for once.”

“Are you gonna scold me if I don’t?”

Oikawa is joking, but the captain of the national team is an unbearably serious guy, so he doesn’t laugh. What he does do before he leaves the locker room is sigh deeply, clap Oikawa on the back, and give him a look that says _I better not find you in the gym tomorrow._ Oikawa gets the message.

“If he doesn’t scold you, I will.”

It’s not what Iwaizumi had been hoping to open with, but it’s instinct, ingrained from years of having to badger Oikawa about not overworking himself. And, even at the highest caliber of Japanese volleyball, here Oikawa is, still the last one to leave. Always lingering.

“I-Iwa-chan!” At least a dozen different emotions flash across Oikawa’s face as he stands up, twisting his features into something unrecognizable. Still, the old nickname causes Iwaizumi’s throat to tighten, his stomach flip-flopping nervously.

“Hey, I can’t figure this out,” Iwaizumi digs into his pocket and pulls out a misshapen paper star, tossing it at Oikawa, who snatches it out of the air without even thinking, “I forgot how you do these.”

Oikawa’s smile is watery, “Silly Iwa-chan. I showed you so many times.”

Iwaizumi shuffles closer as Oikawa sits back down on the locker room bench, unfolding the star and smoothing the paper out on his thigh. There must be a hundred folds on it, where Iwaizumi had failed and started over, folding and unfolding the paper the entire flight from America.

“Here,” Oikawa pats the seat next to him, not yet meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. Iwaizumi sits down gingerly, taking in Oikawa’s profile as he focuses. It’s unbearably familiar – the slope of his nose, the soft line of his cheekbones, the way his hair, still wet from his post-practice shower, curls softly at the base of his neck.

Oikawa must feel Iwaizumi’s gaze, because he pouts, “You’re not even watching.”

“S-Sorry. Go ahead.”

Oikawa takes his time, re-folding the paper into a small star. It’s even easier than Iwaizumi thought it was. Why had he had so much trouble with it? Why did he assume it would be so difficult?

When he’s done, Oikawa wordlessly hands the small star over to Iwaizumi. And then, finally, he cries. It’s been two years and he finally cries, fat tear drops beading at the corners of his eyes, throat too tight to even speak. Oikawa cries like he’s never cried before in his life, and Iwaizumi cries too, not because of sadness but because he knows that now, after everything that happened between them, they can finally move on, and move forward.

“You’re going to stay?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. It’s not what Oikawa is really asking, so Iwaizumi goes ahead and answers his real question, “I should have stayed in the first place.”

Oikawa’s smile is genuine, one of the small, secret smiles that only Iwaizumi and a handful of others have seen. Later, they’ll talk, and maybe cry some more, maybe make love, maybe fight. 

For now, Iwaizumi is happy to marvel at the uncomplicated way in which Oikawa folds himself back into Iwaizumi’s life, as if he had never been gone at all.


End file.
